


Alice Cooper Adopts the World

by EmeraldAshes



Series: Playing Jenga with Children [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alice Cooper Is Not a Reliable Narrator, Casually Reading Betty's Diary, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Big (Vaguely Incestuous) Happy Family, One Big Happy Family, She is judging you right now, So much judgment, That moment when Alice actually starts to seem reasonable, The Talk, WTF is Journalistic Integrity, What is wrong with Riverdale parents???, mama bear - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: People aren’t stray dogs, and Alice Cooper is no saint. But she isn’t going to throw out a homeless fifteen-year-old, a near-hypothermic cheerleader, or any of the other bedraggled souls who turn up on her doorstep.





	1. Enter Jughead, Enter Polly, Exit Hal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bisexual_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bisexual_Dragon/gifts).



> My friend Fairy_Godmother introduced me to Riverdale because she knows my obsession with trashy HS mysteries. Near the end of the season, I was hit by the surprising revelation that Alice Cooper had begun to seem like a reasonable authority figure, and half the teenage cast was in a very bad place. I'm now inviting you inside of our in-joke.

The whole mess began in the fall of Betty’s sophomore year, when she should have been investing her time in preparing for college, but instead spent it on murder mysteries and questionable relationship decisions. Archie had been a thorn pricking Alice’s side since the children were up to her knee, that Lodge girl was just like her mother, and now this.

“Betty,” Alice called coolly from the bottom of the stairs. “Come down here.”

Betty appeared at the top of the stairs. She was such a beautiful girl, supposedly intelligent, and usually graceful. The moment Alice caught sight of her, however, she inevitably devolved into a stumbling newborn fawn with the brain of an ox. “H-hi Mom.”

“Bring the Jones boy with you.”

“What?” Betty said, still smiling, her eyes blown with panic.

Alice quirked an eyebrow. “Now.”

Jughead Jones promptly joined Betty at the top of the stairs. Perhaps he had been lingering behind her like a shadow. How fitting.

“Into the kitchen.” Alice turned and swept inside, the two teenagers trailing behind.

Alice sat at the kitchen table, one leg swept over the other, and regarded the teens standing before her. “Did you truly think you could sneak a boy into this house without me knowing?”

“Mom, I swear it isn’t like that.” Betty stepped forward, blue eyes at full blast.

Alice had long been immune to Betty’s wide-eyed manipulation. “Oh? Why don’t you tell me what it _is_ like, Elizabeth?”

A sullen-looking Jughead turned to leave. “Betty, this was a bad idea.”

Betty grabbed his arm, a fierce set to her lips, and whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

When the eye contact between her daughter and the Jones boy lasted a touch longer than seemed appropriate, Alice loudly drummed her fingers against the table. Betty turned to her and said, “Jughead’s homeless.”

“Betty,” Jughead hissed.

“He’s been living at the drive-in,” she continued.

Alice turned to look at Jughead. “Where is your father in all this?”

Jughead’s eyes were downcast, his figure hunched inwards. “It’s honestly easier to live without him.”

Alice continued staring. Sometimes, during a particularly difficult interview, she let the silence settle in. Most people abhorred silence. It made them uncomfortable.

“He drinks a lot,” Jughead reluctantly added.

Betty twisted her hands. “Can Jughead please, _please_ stay here for a few nights?”

Alice stared at Jughead Jones for a long moment, evaluating him. His father was a scoundrel, and Alice didn’t trust the man with a goldfish, let alone a fifteen-year-old boy. Frankly, it was surprising FP hadn’t been arrested long ago.

“Betty, run along and set up the guest bedroom for him,” Alice said at last.

“Thank you,” Betty said, holding out the “ooh” in one long breath. The girl looked deliriously happy, and Alice couldn’t help a small twitch of her lips at the sight.

Betty bounced out of the room, and Jughead began to follow. His head had risen a smidge. His shoulders held a more natural curve, less hunched. It was a touching moment.

By nature, however, Alice was a pessimist. “Jughead.”

Jughead halted, the tension immediately returning. He looked at her, dark-eyed and dangerous. “Yes?”

Alice’s eyes flicked in the direction where Betty had fluttered off to. “Do not take advantage of our hospitality.”

Jughead’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he nodded. “Thanks, Mrs. Cooper.”

Alice merely inclined her head. “Go on, then.”

Jughead immediately scrambled toward Alice’s daughter. The woman sighed, quietly acknowledging that she had invited trouble into her home.

Her husband wandered into the kitchen, looking after Jughead with a crumpled, puppyish confusion. “What’s going on there?”

Alice rose from her chair. “Jughead Jones will be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”

Hal gave a breathy chuckle. “Where was I when that happened?”

Alice started preparing breakfast, cracking an egg against the side of the frying pan. “I’m not your keeper, Hal.”

 

* * *

 

Alice Cooper climbed up to the attic, the place where she had banished her wine-stained wedding dress, Betty’s childhood doll collection, and most of Hal’s trophies of bachelorhood. Alice heard a sudden shuffling as she poked her head into the dust-fumed darkness.

“Don’t bother hiding, Polly,” Alice called out. “I know you’ve been sneaking into the kitchen.”

No answer. Not even breathing. Alice rolled her eyes. What was she? The Big Bad Wolf? Alice took a seat on the old mattress her pregnant daughter had been sleeping on, pinching the thin blanket between her fingers. “You even ate the last brownie.”

Polly finally spoke. “That might have been Betty.”

“Betty knows better.” Alice glanced around the attic in search of blonde hair.

Polly crept out of the dimness. “Yeah. I guess she does.”

“She knows you’re up here?”

Polly smiled weakly. “What?”

“She knows you’re up here,” Alice repeated with calm certainty. It was painful to realize that neither of her daughters trusted her with this. If Betty didn’t keep such a detailed diary, Alice suspected she wouldn’t know a thing about either of their lives.

Polly’s arms wrapped around her rounded stomach as she lingered just out of reach. “Please don’t make me go back.”

Alice looked at her. “Come here.”

Polly walked forward slowly, a hand still stroking her pregnant belly. She sat beside Alice on the edge of the bed. She looked ready to bolt for the stairs.

Alice wrapped an arm around Polly’s lower back, hugging her to her side. “I won’t make you go back.”

“Thank you,” Polly said, sniffling. Then she took a deep breath. “I…I don’t want to give up the baby.”

Alice felt her own stomach twist at the words, like the ache of an old wound. “Alright.”

They sat like that for a long time, leaning against each other in the quiet. Finally, Alice said, “This mattress is terrible.”

Polly giggled tearfully. “I know.”

“You do have a bedroom.”

“I love you, Mom.” Polly squeezed her in a hug and then disappeared down the stairs.

Alice watched her go, smiling. It was good to have both her daughters home.

 

* * *

 

Hal had tried to trick Polly into an abortion. That bastard hadn’t changed one bit. He deserved more than being thrown out. He deserved to have his goddamned ears ripped off.

And yet.

It was impossible to remember life without Hal. There had never _been_ life without him, not really. They had started dating when Alice was fifteen, and they’d never broken up, not even for a day, not even when everything went to hell at Homecoming. Her home, her children, her sweetest memories, even her career were all intertwined with his. They were partners.

They were partners, but Hal had still decided to go behind her back. He had _lied_ to her, had tried to force Polly into a decision that Alice wouldn’t like, that Hal knew that Alice wouldn’t like. The anger climbed thickly up her throat, choking her.

Alice paced the kitchen, refrigerator to sink. Jughead stepped inside the room, then paused. He looked like he had just encountered an enraged grizzly. “Uh, hey Mrs. Cooper.”

“Jughead.”

“I was just gonna grab some water.” Jughead’s eyes darted toward her as he grabbed a glass and the pitcher. “Are you okay?”

Jughead was a good boy, despite coming from bad stock. Sometimes that happened. Alice liked to think that she was an example, but often she just felt like trash masquerading in a pressed slacks and curled hair.

Jughead wasn’t like her, though. He wasn’t a bad person trying to be good. He was genuinely sweet to her family. He helped Betty with the Blue and Gold. He biked over to Pop’s at midnight to buy a craving-addled Polly a milkshake. He did the dishes, said thank you, handed Alice things from tall shelves. It was a little like having a son in the house. Alice had always wondered what it would be like to have a son. One she could keep.

Alice must have gotten lost in thought for too long. Jughead edged out of the room with a glass in his hand. He said, “I’ll just be going…”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Alice said.

Jughead paused in the doorway. “Okay. Uh, is there something I can help you with?”

“Get Polly and Betty. We’re having a family meeting.” Alice set a kettle of water on the stove for hot chocolate. Some conversations are easier with something warm and solid to hold. Bubbles were just starting to form at the bottom when Jughead returned with Betty and Polly.

“Sit,” Alice said.

Betty and Polly promptly sat. Jughead remained on his feet, hands in his pockets. “Jughead? Why are you still standing?”

Jughead blinked. “You said it was a family meeting, and I’m not really, you know...”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Sit.”

Jughead sat, still looking exceedingly uncomfortable. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Alice said, “You are a member of this household until one of your parents can give you a home that meets my standards. I have exceedingly high standards, so you’d better get comfortable.”

“Mom?” Betty said. “What’s going on?”

“I’m divorcing your father,” Alice said. “Close your mouth, Polly. You look like a hippopotamus.”

“Wait you… _what_?” Betty said.

“Is this my fault?” Polly asked.

“No,” Alice said, then amended. “Well, partially. His attempt to take away your decision was certainly a factor. Regardless, he has moved out and will not be returning.”

Polly, ever the drama queen, slumped onto the table. “I can’t believe this.”

“I mean, I knew you guys fought, but I never thought you would actually…” Betty waved her hand vaguely.

Steam shot out of the kettle, and Alice said, “Jughead, pour the hot water, and take your hands out of your pockets. You’ll develop a hunch.”

 

* * *

 

While Alice still mourned for her position at the Register, she was now determined to give the Blue and Gold a reputation for having a higher caliber of journalism than the local newspaper. Along with the delicious spite of that goal, such an impressive feat would look wonderful on Betty’s college applications.

At eighteen, people called Alice the Queen of the Grapevine. At forty-five, her high school gossip network was stronger than ever. It now included teachers and substitutes, as well as easily bribable students. The day after FP Jones’s arrest, Ethel Muggs and Archie Andrews brought her a piece of news that had her speed-walking to the principal’s office.

“Alice,” Principal Weatherbee said as she flung the door open. “I’m in a meeting. We’ve spoken about this.”

More specifically, Weatherbee had spoken and Alice had not listened. “This isn’t about the Blue and Gold. Would you care to explain why Jughead Jones is in this office and not the girl who repeatedly hit him?”

“Miss Blossom is going through a difficult time.”

“So is Jughead.” Alice’s eyes glinted. “You might have heard.”

“Alice,” Weatherbee said.

Alice Cooper stood behind Jughead, smiling tightly at Weatherbee. “What were you saying before I walked in?”

“I’m being suspended,” Jughead said. He sounded tired, and Alice was perfectly happy to fight this battle for him. She had even taken on the police a few weeks back. The last time she had passed Sheriff Keller at the local supermarket, he had tried to hide behind a pyramid of cereal boxes. But nobody could hide from Alice Cooper.

Her smile widened, the muscles in her face tight. “Suspended? I can see the headline. _Boy suspended after violent assault, attacker unpunished: Riverdale High sexist or classist? You decide_.”

Weatherbee sighed deeply, new lines cutting into his forehead as she stared him down. “We won’t allow you to publish that in the Blue and Gold, and last I heard, you aren’t working for the Register.”

“Oh, I think it’ll gain enough traction if I put it on my blog. All those angry moms sharing on Facebook. You know how these things spiral.”

“I could fire you.”

Alice set a hand on Jughead’s shoulder. “You’re practically writing this for me, Waldo.”

She stared at Weatherbee. People were more like animals than they liked to admit, and prolonged eye contact caused some to attack and others to flee. Waldo Weatherbee had always struck Alice as a little meerkat of a man—skinny and nervous.

“No suspension,” he said at last, “but I suggest you take Jughead home for the day.”

“Oh, I am.” Alice kept a hand firmly on Jughead’s shoulder as they left the office.

“I feel like we won that for all the wrong reasons,” Jughead said as they walked the hall.

Alice smiled at him, still cold if less predatory. “Focus on the win. My only regret is that that vile little Blossom chit didn’t get expelled.”

“Cheryl’s dealing with a lot right now,” Jughead said.

Alice said, “Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for the people who hurt you, Jughead Jones. They don’t deserve a damned thing.”

Jughead was quiet until they were in the car, halfway home. “That was a terrible headline. Way too long, and really pretentious.”

Alice pursed her lips. “I’ve read your manuscript. You’re in no position to cast stones.”


	2. Old Enemies, New Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice Cooper reminded herself that it was not her duty to give shelter to every downtrodden teenager in Riverdale. Or their irresponsible parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately had no idea about the "Coopers adopt Jughead" deleted scene until y’all brought it up. Blew my mind.

Betty ambushed her at the door. “Hi Mom!”

“Hey Mrs. Cooper,” Jughead said at her daughter’s shoulder, the two teenagers blocking Alice’s way into her home.

Dread immediately pooled in Alice’s stomach. “What’s inside?”

“Nothing!” Betty said, smiling briefly, then widening her eyes. “Nothing really. We just have some people over.”

Alice stared at her. “People.”

“Friends,” Betty corrected.

“Friends like Archie Andrews and Veronica Lodge?” Alice said as she pushed past them. “I just don’t understand why they of all people—”

Alice paused in the doorway to her living room. The first disturbing realization was that Cheryl Blossom was sitting on her living room couch—the same Cheryl Blossom who had recently attacked her more-or-less adopted son and already had the strike against her of being a Blossom. On its heels came Alice’s snapshot-quick analysis of the situation. Wet hair, mascara tear tracks, swathed in blankets. Polly sat next to Cheryl, hands clutching her knees, foot tapping. On the rug, Veronica was wrapping bandages around Archie’s bloody fists. The snapshots didn’t come together to a clear picture.

Alice turned to Betty and Jughead. “What happened?”

Jughead said, “The short story is that Cheryl tried to drown herself in a frozen lake and Archie Hulk-smashed her out.”

“I gave her some of my clothes,” Betty said. “We’re trying to warm her up.”

Alice would damned well get the long story later, with every moment drawn in full detail. For now, however, “Betty, fetch the hair dryer, you can’t just leave her dripping like that. Get my makeup remover, too. Polly, turn the thermostat to 85. Jughead, make a pot of soup, and keep the dishtowels _away_ from the burner this time.”

Everyone stared at her, and she narrowed her eyes. “Go.”

The three members of her household took to their tasks while Alice Cooper wrapped another blanket around Cheryl. The redhead watched her with blank eyes. Alice sat beside her on the couch and pressed a hand to the girls’ cheek, then her forehead. She felt chilled, like a corpse.

“I always thought you Blossoms were carved out of ice.” A thought occurred to Alice. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

Cheryl shivered violently. “Please don’t tell her.”

“It’s getting late. She’s probably wondering where you are.”

“She isn’t,” Cheryl muttered.

Honestly, after thirty-odd years of knowing Penelope Blossom, Alice would believe a bad word about her from nearly anyone. The redhead once had one of her sycophants bullied out of town for kissing the wrong boy. The little bitch had been thirteen at the time.

Betty returned with the hair dryer and the makeup remover. After Cheryl quietly wiped off the globs of mascara, her face was puffy and childlike, her eyes pained. Alice reminded herself that it was not her duty to give shelter to every downtrodden teenager in Riverdale.

“Please don’t make me go back. She’ll just tell me to fix my make-up, and the whole house feels wrong, and everyone is dead.”

Alice took one of Cheryl’s cold hands, trying to rub warmth into it. “You can stay here tonight.”

Cheryl launched herself into Alice Cooper’s arms and began to sob into her cardigan. Alice stroked the Blossom girl’s damp hair as the children gathered and whispered and tried to help. The last to return was Jughead.

“Your pot of gold,” he said as he set a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the coffee table.

Cheryl poked her head up. “Did that come out of a can?”

“It’s Campbell’s,” Jughead said slowly.

Cheryl buried her head against Alice’s shoulder and mumbled, “Ew.”

 

* * *

 

Alice Cooper had a healthy distrust of football players. They were too assured of their own value, too strong for their own good. If Cheryl had asked to invite the entire team into the Cooper family home, Alice would have said no. Cheryl had not asked, however, so instead Alice had to spend her Saturday afternoon supervising as a dozen young idiots cleared out her attic. The one she trusted most in this situation was Archie Andrews.

That was deeply worrying.

“Thank _God_ we’re doing this,” Cheryl declared in a blatant attempt at attention seeking. “I couldn’t even breathe in that cramped room.”

Betty, standing beside the redhead, said, “You do realize that I’ve been sharing a room the same size with Polly, right?”

Cheryl smiled at her. “Exactly. That’s why you should be happy. You get your little room back.”

Alice surveyed the attic from her position at its center. “Archie, Moose, take this mattress out to the front stoop, by the garbage cans.”

Moose groaned, but Archie hopped to it with a “Yes, Mrs. Cooper.”

Archie had inherited his mother’s flightiness and his father’s weak will. If nothing else, however, he had always been obedient. He could be trusted with simple tasks…at least until you set a pretty girl in front of him. Veronica climbed into the attic with a dozen lemonades carefully balanced on a round plate. “Thirsty, Archiekins?”

Archie immediately set down the mattress, Moose stumbling at the shifted weight, and grabbed a glass. “Thanks, Ronnie.”

Polly waddled over to the growing group of loiterers, a box wrapped in her arms.

“Let the boys handle the heavy-lifting, Polly,” Alice chided her.

“It’s hardly heavy,” Polly said as she set it down.

Veronica plunked herself in front of it, her overpriced skirt kicking up dust as it pressed against the floorboards. “Ooh, what deep dark secrets are hiding in here?”

Polly laughed as she grabbed a lemonade. “It’s baby pictures, mostly.”

“Oh, I am _so_ in.” Veronica pulled out one of Alice’s old albums.

Cheryl peeked over Veronica’s shoulder every few seconds, her feigned disinterest less and less convincing with each glance. Archie returned to his task, hauling the mattress down the attic stairs as football players shuffled around at Alice’s direction. Jughead, who had been half-heartedly participating, broke away briefly to speak with Betty.

Alice wasn’t a fool, though she might have been acting the part. She knew that there was an attraction, if perhaps not yet a full-fledged romance. She knew that Betty and Jughead were likely sneaking around and sharing covert kisses. The rational action was to nip this connection in the bud before it could take root. The only issue was that Alice did not entirely disapprove of the relationship. She disapproved, yes. But not entirely.

Cheryl gasped, a hand flying to her chest. “Mama Cooper! You didn’t tell me you used to be such a fox.”

Alice was irritated by every syllable of that statement. “You don’t have to share every thought that’s in your head, Cheryl…And don’t call me either of those things again.”

Cheryl smiled sweetly and with absolute dishonesty. “Super sorry, Mrs. C.”

Archie returned to the attic, raising his shirt to wipe his brow and attracting the avid attention of Veronica, Cheryl, and oddly, Moose. Archie asked, “So are we just throwing all this stuff out?”

Alice’s eyes swept over the old clothes, the ragged furniture, Hal’s extensive record collection. “Burn it.”

“Bonfire at the Coopers’!” Reggie pumped his fist, nearly dropping a box before fumbling it to a halt against his knee.

“We could have a garage sale,” Polly suggested.

Betty frowned down at the tangled Christmas lights that had been crawling toward her over the course of the afternoon. “I’m not sure anyone would want to buy this stuff, Polls.”

“I was thinking we donate it to the less fortunate,” Cheryl said. “Namely, the Lodges.”

Veronica shut the photo album and turned to Betty with a perky smile. “I would suggest burning sage. A demon is living in your home.”

 

* * *

 

If Alice was to be completely honest, her hospital visit had not been motivated by neighborly concern. This was a damned good story—a local landmark stained by tragedy, a hometown hero wounded, a hunt for a man with no face. The townsfolk were hungry for details, and Alice had been digging for gold all morning.

She arrived at Fred’s hospital room in the late afternoon. The man was unconscious, which she had expected. She was also unsurprised to see his son in a bedside chair with his friends surrounding him like a shield. Betty hovered anxiously over Archie’s shoulder. Veronica curled up on the floor beside him, firmly grasping his hand. Jughead sprawled at his feet. Cheryl had claimed the other chair.

Alice’s instincts had labeled Archie a bad influence from an early age, but a suitable number of facts had slowly swayed her judgment. Archie had been prepared to attack the robber before Fred moved ahead of him. He had broken into FP Jones’s mobile home at Alice’s behest, in large part to protect Jughead. He had saved Cheryl from the ice. After examining all the facts, Alice concluded that Archie was a generally well-meaning boy, but deeply foolish and allowed to run wild. With proper guidance, he might yet achieve some level of good judgment.

When Alice entered the room, Jughead stood, Betty’s hands curled into fists, Cheryl’s lips pursed, and Veronica’s eyes narrowed. They were prepared for a battle, yet when Alice saw Archie’s vulnerable, tear-stained face, she didn’t have the stomach to ask a single question.

“You’ll be staying with us tonight, Archie,” Alice said instead, the edges of her voice softening.

“I…” Archie shook his head. “Can’t I just go home?”

“And leave you to host wild parties and teenage orgies in _my_ neighborhood?” Alice quirked an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

As Alice strode out of the room, hoping to bribe an orderly for Fred Andrews’ prognosis, she heard Jughead say, “Should I be disappointed that I’ve never been invited to one of these infamous orgies?”

The teens all laughed, a touch hysterical, and Archie said, “I would totally invite you to my orgy, dude.”

 

* * *

 

“You really don’t have to do this, Alice,” Fred said in a tone that more accurately conveyed _please don’t do this._

“What are neighbors for?” Alice held open the door of her home as Fred entered, his weight mostly supported by Archie. If the two had been allowed back into their own house, Archie would have taken on a caretaker position, which was wholly unsuitable for a boy his age. He should be focusing on extracurriculars and raising his abysmal grades.

Polly and Betty were in the living room, preparing Fred’s makeshift bed. He would move in with Archie and Jughead shortly, but stairs might be a difficulty for a few more days. For now, he would sleep in the living room, with the Christmas tree and the other decorations her daughters had put up a few days before.

“Hi, Mr. Andrews!” Betty chirped, then turned to Alice. “We were thinking about putting poinsettias on the table.”

“To make it seem more homey,” Polly added.

“You really don’t have to—” Fred began.

Alice interjected, “Don’t be frivolous.”

“Right,” Betty muttered and turned to Fred again. “I hope you’re comfortable here.”

Jughead, alerted by the noise, poked his head in. “Anything you need, man. Seriously.”

Fred was beginning to look uncomfortable as Archie helped him onto the bed and handed him the remote to the television. “The Coopers don’t have cable, which is kind of weird, but they’ve got a lot of DVDs and stuff.”

Cheryl swept through on her way to the kitchen, remarking. “You look like something out of a Tim Burton film…I have bronzer, if you need it.”

Alice’s eyes swept over the group. “You all have homework to do.”

“We just started Christmas break,” Archie muttered.

“I saw the results of your last chemistry test, Archie,” Alice said. “I was not impressed.”

The children filed out, casting curious and concerned glances toward the invalid camped out in their living room. Fred said, “They’re very…helpful.”

“You’re a novelty,” Alice said. “Relish it while you can. They’ll be back to only thinking about themselves in a week.”

 

* * *

 

They were letting FP Jones out early, presumably because his case was tangled up in too much of the mayor’s dirty business. Alice suspected that a few polite threats from Hermione had helped to speed things along, as well. Besides, it was the general consensus that FP was no great danger to anyone or anything. As usual, Alice disagreed.

Jughead hadn’t said one word about going to live with his father. But he had a packed backpack stored under his bed. He had been speaking to FP regularly via telephone. Betty had noted Jughead’s unusual behavior in her diary. He was uncertain, adrift, loyalties torn. Alice accepted that Jughead Jones would leave her house one day. She accepted it in the same way that she accepted Betty and Polly’s eventual flight. He could leave when he was college-aged, with respectable roommates and an honest landlord whom Alice had personally vetted.

On a weekday afternoon, when the children were at school, Alice made a phone call.

“Alice Cooper,” FP said, the same flippant insolence to his tone that she remembered from high school. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Alice had no interest in small talk. “Your son loves you.”

“I know,” FP rumbled.

“You don’t deserve it.”

FP was silent, just deep breathing in her ear.

She continued, “This household has been good for him. He is thriving here.”

“I’m not going to take that from him, Alice. I’m not that selfish.” FP’s voice was tight, guarded. It reminded Alice uncomfortably of his son.

“Good,” Alice said, and then added out of weakness and sentimentality, “Part of him wants to live with you, in spite of what a miserable job you’ve done of taking care of him.”

“Don’t taunt me,” FP said darkly. He was trying to frighten her, and she contemplated whether hanging up would be rewarding the behavior.

Alice twisted the phone cord around her fingers. “Your house is on wheels. I will allow you to park it in our backyard.”

FP snorted. “Like the family dog.”

“I abhor animals,” Alice said. They were dirty, needy, and stupid. She had never allowed Hal to buy the children a puppy, no matter how he guilted her. “I’m offering this against my better judgment. If you’re going to accept—”

“I’m taking the offer,” FP said, and then with a smirk that Alice could hear, “and I’m getting a dog.”

 

* * *

 

Hot Dog darted out of the door as Alice opened it. She made no effort to stop him. Anyone who rang the doorbell at 1 a.m. on a Thursday night deserved to be mauled by an eighty-pound sheepdog. Alice glared at Hermione Lodge as she stood on her doorstep, her daughter happily greeting the dog lurching at her.

“I am so sorry about this,” Hermione said, “but our apartment building burned down, and most of our money is tied up in the trial…”

Alice flung open the door. “Just get in.”


	3. Cheaper By the Dozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred sighed. “Dammit, Alice. I’m not stealing anyone. This is a small house. You’ve been playing Jenga with children since Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to post this a week ago but it just. kept. growing.

Cheryl pulled up to the school in her red Jaguar. Then came Betty, Veronica, Polly, and Mrs. Cooper in a sedan, and finally Archie and Jughead in a beat-up truck. It was officially amazing. Kevin had started hanging out by the smokers just for an opportunity to gawk.

“We’re all carpooling now.” Betty sighed as she approached him.

“That isn’t a carpool. That’s a caravan,” Kevin said. “Is it true that you all sleep piled up in the living room?”

Veronica beamed at him. “Totally! We also have nightly pillow fights…well, they’re more like pillow _wars_ since FP joined in.”

Betty groaned. “Veronica, please stop feeding the rumors. It’s bad enough Cheryl keeps starting new ones.”

“Does your mother really make you drink possibly-poisoned Kool-Aid every night as a test of loyalty?” Kevin said as he followed Betty to her locker. Kevin didn’t need textbooks nearly as much as he needed details.

“Can we please stop talking about my family?” Betty said.

Kevin leaned against the locker next to hers. “Betty, your family is the weirdest thing to ever happen to this school.”

Betty smiled, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Not Jason’s murder?”

“No way. This has totally flipped the social hierarchy on its head. Jughead is hanging out with jocks. Cheryl has an advice column in the newspaper.”

“I hate that column,” Betty muttered. “Cheryl can’t spell.”

Kevin waved off her griping. “She’s like a mean, post-divorce Dear Abby. Cheryl is literally the only reason I read the paper since we found out who killed Jason. I love when she starts guessing who’s writing in.”

Betty snorted. “Right. Like it’s hard.”

 

* * *

 

Dear Cheryl,

I love my girlfriend, and she thinks we’re gonna get married or something. How can I tell her that I’m into someone else? A guy??? I don’t think I’m gay, but I can’t stop dreaming about him and sh*t. This is driving me crazy.

Help.

Feeling like a Jerk

_Dear Jerk,_

_Choose (can somebody start a drumroll?) to have some goddamned self-respect. You’re clearly not into this chick, and relationships that start out with cheating Do. Not. Work. You need to be a single Pringle, and not be salty about it._

_Get it together,_

_Cheryl_

_Dear Kevin,_

_Is this why you keep texting Betty at like 2 a.m.? I get you’re all blue balls since your Latin lover skipped town, but wow. Just jack off or something._

_This is sad,_

_Cheryl_

 

* * *

 

Alice glared down at the four drunken sixteen-year-olds clumped together on her living room couch. They had been dragged in by the Sheriff a few minutes before. This Cooper family embarrassment would be the talk of the town tomorrow, no doubt, and never mind that half the high school had been at that party. The only positive to this situation was that there was an angry parent for each irresponsible teenager.

“Well, this certainly explains why Polly wasn’t invited along to your movie night,” Alice hissed.

“You shouldn’t have lied to us about the party,” Fred said evenly.

Archie, the only one who had entered the house without clutching at the walls, stared at his shoes. “You would have said no.”

Fred gave him a long, serious look. “If I knew there would be drinking there, you bet I would have said no.”

“I was designated driver and, uh, drunk babysitter.” Archie expertly ignored Veronica raking her fingers through his red hair while mumbling to herself. “Don’t I get credit for that?”

“I’m glad you were trying to be responsible,” Fred began.

“But this was _incredibly_ irresponsible,” Alice interjected. “Did these three drink alcohol or swim in it?”

“I only had maaaybe three shots,” Betty said, demonstrating noticeable issues with her volume control.

Hermione’s lips twitched. “You almost took out the coffee table, mija.”

“It moved,” Betty said with full sincerity.

“They were double shots,” Jughead clarified.

Alice took a deep breath through her nose.

“Please don’t be mad,” Archie muttered.

Hermione cast a slightly concerned glance at her daughter, who seemed determined to tally Archie’s abs, only to lose count and start again. “We’re not angry. We’re just disappointed.”

“Oh, I’m livid,” Alice said.

“I’m pissed off, too,” FP said, glaring at his son. “Since when do you even drink?”

“Oh, yeah, no. My fault.” Veronica nonchalantly climbed into Archie’s lap. “He was all like, ‘I’ve never gotten drunk before,’ and I was like, ‘Shhh my sweet summer child. Have some tequila.’”

Alice turned to Hermione. “Your daughter is a terrible influence.”

Hermione sighed. “All of our children are bad influences, Alice.”

“It’s not Veronica’s fault.” Jughead, sitting cross-legged at the base of the couch, stared at his hands as if he could find the answer to life tucked inside his palms. “I wasn’t having a good time, and I thought maybe drinking would help. But instead it was too loud and the people were obnoxious and the food sucked _and_ my vision was dragging and my balance was messed up. Why do people even drink if it doesn’t fix anything?”

“Because we’re idiots,” FP said, grasping Jughead’s shoulder. “You remember that, and you go make your _own_ mistakes. Not mine.”

“Yeah, no, I just don’t know why I have to be such a weirdo. I was at a party, with my friends and my girlfriend—”

“You have a girlfriend?” Fred said, possibly the only one who had not yet caught on to their illicit romance.

Jughead stared at Alice, then darted a glance toward the door. “Please don’t kill me.”

Betty set a hand against the boy’s back and yelled, “I’m dating Jughead!”

“Betty,” Alice said.

“No. No interrupting. You don’t get to come between us. I love Jughead Jones. I love him so much, and I am not breaking up with him.” Betty nodded her head firmly, then took a moment to blink away her dizziness.

As much as Alice respected Betty for not folding like a stack of cards, there were more pressing matters. “Betty, you have drool on your face.”

“Oh.” Betty wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“I’m not forcing a break-up. I tried that with Jason Blossom, and like a hydra, two more sprung up in his place.”

FP snorted. “You cut off the wrong head.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jughead choked, and a pale Archie gently moved Veronica off his lap.

Hermione laughed lightly. “That might be a little too far for one party. I was thinking we ground them for a couple weeks.”

“Mom,” Veronica whined.

Fred said, “It’s late. Let’s talk punishments in the morning, when we’re all rested…and sober.”

The adults and children acquiesced. Alice, however, had one punishment that she had already decided upon. After the drunkards had stumbled to their beds, she called up the stairs, toward the eavesdroppers no doubt hiding behind the wall. “Polly, Cheryl. Come here.”

Polly offered Alice an embarrassed smile as she descended the stairs.

Cheryl glided down like spying on her adoptive siblings was her due. “Do we get special privileges for _not_ going out and getting trashed?”

“Yes,” Alice said. “In the morning, Betty, Veronica, and Jughead will be hung over. I need your assistance to make breakfast as unpleasant for them as possible.”

An unpleasant smile grew on Cheryl’s face. “Oh, Mama Cooper, I am _honored._ ”

“I’ve been getting into Swedish Death Metal,” Polly said as she set a gentle hand on her distended stomach. “It makes the babies kick.”

“Set it as your alarm,” Alice ordered.

“Orange juice and eggs for breakfast,” Cheryl declared, “and I’m hiding the Aspirin.”

* * *

 

Dear Cheryl,

This girl in my house is a HUGE bathroom hog. She locks herself in there at _precisely_ 5 a.m. and doesn’t come out until 6:30. There are eight of us living together with two bathrooms, so this is very selfish of her. How can I make her not be so rude?

Thanks bunches!

Super Annoyed

 

_Dear Super Annoying,_

_That’s a difficult situation, Veronica, but I have an idea. Have you tried not being a passive aggressive bitch?_

_Kisses,_

_Cheryl_

 

* * *

 

The secret was to never blink, physically or metaphorically. “Betty.”

Fred returned Alice’s stare from across the table. “Archie.”

“Polly.”

“Jughead.”

“No,” Alice said.

Fred groaned, leaning back in the kitchen chair. “What if…?”

“I said no, Fred.” Repetition was key to memory, and she wanted to ensure that Fred did not forget this. The man might be well enough to leave her household and take Archie next door, he might even bring the Lodges along, but he was not dragging Jughead with him.

Fred glanced at the other two parents sitting at the kitchen table, Hermione chewing on a pen while avidly watching them, FP repeatedly flicking open a pocket knife. The repeated click, click, click of it was slowly driving Alice mad.

“I’ll also take FP.”

That was fighting dirty. “…Fine.”

FP waggled his eyebrows. “It’ll be just like college.”

Alice had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t like the sound of it. “It will be nothing like college.”

Fred sighed. “It might be slightly like college.”

“Fuck yes.” The knife clicked open again.

Hermione leaned forward, a flirtatious smile on her lips. “What happened in college?”

Fred flushed, muttering something that Alice couldn’t begin to decipher.

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Is that everyone you’ll be stealing from me?”

Fred sighed. “Dammit, Alice. I’m not _stealing_ anyone. This is a small house. You’ve been playing Jenga with children since Christmas.”

 “Nothing’s fallen over yet.” Alice stared him down. “Try not to make a mess, Fred.”

 

* * *

 

Dear Cheryl,

My 6 month anniversary with my girlfriend is coming up, and I just have no idea what to do?

Thanks,

Clueless

 

_Dear Clueless,_

_Number one: A six-month anniversary is not an anniversary, and it’s_ basically _saying that you’re too pathetic to hit the year mark._

_Number two: I know your girlfriend, and she’s going to want you to make it a whole deal. I know you’re broke, so maybe do some cutesy thing that banks on a memory you two have? Assuming you can remember more than a week in the past with your goldfish brain._

_Number three: You guys totally aren’t hitting the year mark._

_You’re welcome,_

_Cheryl_

 

* * *

 

Now that Alice’s brood had been ripped asunder, she had begun to more strictly enforce what Polly had happily deemed “new traditions.” Mandatory family dinners occurred twice per week. The seemingly-innocent suggestion to split cooking between the four adults, however, had led to an unforeseeable outcome. FP had taken over Alice Cooper’s kitchen for the evening and had menaced her with a wooden spoon when she last attempted to supervise.

Alice greeted the only friend of Betty’s of whom she wholly approved, including the ones she had invited into her home. “Hello, Kevin.”

“Hi, Mrs. Cooper. My Dad usually would have come in to say hi, too, but he’s terrified of you. It’s kind of awe-inspiring.” Kevin always knew how best to flatter her.

Alice swept her gaze down the table as she took her seat at its head. The Andrews were setting the table and chatting about Archie’s upcoming performance with Josie and the Pussycats. Hermione had relieved Polly of her little twins for the moment, distracting them with silly faces while they looked as disinterested as only Blossoms could. Polly was dozing in her chair. When the girl had complained about losing sleep, Alice had reminded her that she _had_ wanted to be a mother and that she would never rest easy again.

Veronica peered over Cheryl’s shoulder at the latest letter she had received. “Do you know _anything_ about polyamory?”

Cheryl tapped her chin. “No, not really. But I have plenty of opinions.”

Kevin leaned toward Betty and whispered, “Dude, this is like going to Disney World and seeing its Disney Jail. My brain is exploding right now.”

Jughead, who had been declared sous chef for the night, appeared with a plate of chopped and spiced potatoes in one hand and a salad bowl in the other. FP followed, bearing a blackened salmon and an incredibly smug expression.

Veronica gasped. “Oh my God, this is actual food.”

Hermione nudged her daughter disapprovingly, and then, at her first bite, _moaned._ “Our chef used to make something like this. Yours is better.”

Even Hot Dog seemed enchanted by the meal, though he had enjoyed a perfectly fine bowl of kibble earlier and Alice had a strict policy against giving him table scraps.

Jughead took a seat, a small smile playing on his lips. “My father, man of mystery.”

When the sheepdog attempted to nudge his nose onto the table, Alice shoved him with her leg. “Bad dog.”

FP took a bow before sitting at Alice’s right hand. He began to fill his plate.

Cheryl whistled, staring at FP from under her eyelashes in a way that made Alice seriously reconsider her vow to not send any more of her daughters to a nunnery. “Good bone structure, a drinking problem, _and_ a fabulous cook? Have you considered being a trophy wife?”

“Yes,” FP said seriously, “but you’re a little young for me.”

Cheryl gave a dainty shrug as she placed the letter she had been reading beside her napkin. “Fair. Trophy wife isn’t the most secure career, anyway. Right, Mrs. Lodge?”

Kevin snapped his fingers, garnering the attention of the entire table, then muttered a “Sorry.”

“You are a vicious child, Cheryl Blossom,” Alice remarked with no small amount of pride.

“No soufflé for you,” FP announced as he set his loaded plate on the ground. Hot Dog scarfed the salmon and potatoes down in a few ravenous mouthfuls. Across the table, Jughead made similar work of his serving.

Alice took a single bite. It was fine.

 

* * *

 

Dear Cheryl,

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, `If you see it in the Sun, it's so.' Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?—

Virginia O’Hanlon

 

_Dear Macy’s ad,_

_Stop sending joke letters in._

_Go HOME, Jughead,_

_Cheryl_

 

* * *

 

Alice arrived early to their weekly movie night, claiming the armchair that was rightfully hers. Hot Dog’s head and paws rested on her lap, while his back legs hung off the arm of the chair. She laid a hand on his back to steady him. The rest of the family filled in around her—the other adults on the couch, Polly demanding the recliner, and all non-parents on the floor.

“If this is another slasher flick, I’m just gonna go do homework or something,” Archie declared as he dragged a beanbag chair in front of the TV.

Cheryl, already perched on a pillow, checked her nails with exaggerated disinterest. “Please. You’re just cranky because you didn’t guess the killer last time.”

Archie muttered, “There were two of them. How was I supposed to figure that out?”

Cheryl smiled at him. “Betty did.”

“Betty reads spoilers online,” Archie said.

Betty tapped at her smartphone. “I do.”

“Plus, you don’t get to complain about my movie choices,” Cheryl said. “I mean, West Side Story, really?”

“It’s a good movie.”

“It’s a terrible movie, and you sang the whole time. You are _such_ a diva. Besides, it could be soooo much worse than my slasher films. It could be Mrs. Lodge’s turn.” Cheryl leaned over to whisper into Archie’s ear. “Head on a stick.”

Alice had nightmares about that movie, mostly featuring Polly. She seemed the type to race off into the wilderness, ill-prepared, and end up brutally murdered. “I abhor that film.”

“Or it could be one of Jughead’s weird silent films.” Veronica squeezed onto the beanbag chair with Archie.

“I like his weird silent films,” FP said.

Jughead smirked up at his father from where he leaned against the foot of the couch. “It’s a match made in heaven. The movie never talks, and you never stop talking.”

“Mostly I like the bad acting and the rampant homoeroticism.” FP flung his arm around the back of the couch behind Fred.

“Jughead, please pick something in _color_ next time,” Cheryl said as she slowly set up the film. Alice strongly suspected that she was intentionally delaying the title screen’s appearance due to an overblown sense of drama.

Fred valiantly ignored FP’s arm inching closer to his shoulders. “We all agreed that the person who picks the movie, picks the movie. No arguments. No vetoes.”

“I’m glad you said that. I’ve been meaning to watch this one movie. It’s called…” FP smiled widely. “A Serbian Film.”

“Veto,” Alice said.

Jughead spoke through a mouthful of popcorn. “What are you making us watch, Cheryl?”

“Misery,” Cheryl said.

“Sounds cheerful,” Betty chirped.

Archie said, “Is it horror?”

“It’s based on a Stephen King book,” Polly mumbled as she sunk into the recliner with a pillow under her head, clearly planning to nap through the movie.

Jughead frowned. “Does the dog die?”

Hot Dog perked up at his name, and Alice settled him again with a drag of her fingers.

“Checking.” Betty pecked at her smartphone.

“No dog in this one,” Hermione said. “There is a pig, though.”

“Does the _pig_ die?” Jughead repeated with slightly more concern.

“The pig is—”

“No spoilers, Hermione,” Cheryl sing-songed. “Starting it now.”

As the protagonist Paul Sheldon drove off a snowy cliff, Hermione said, “If any of you _ever_ try to drive in a snowstorm like that, I’m never letting you out of the house again.”

Alice absentmindedly stroked Hot Dog’s ears. “Unfortunately, when you completely remove freedom, they have no incentive to listen to you.”

She had learned that through painful trial and error.

FP turned to Alice shortly afterward and gestured at the lunatic woman on-screen. “This is you, if there was no us. Alone, deranged, reading trashy romance novels.”

Alice met his eyes. “I prefer nonfiction.”

Archie, meanwhile, was growing increasingly upset as he attempted to advise the on-screen characters. “Oh my God. Go back to the bedroom. Go back to the bedroom. She’s almost home. GO BACK TO THE BEDROOM.”

Veronica watched him avidly. “You are _so_ much more entertaining than the movie.”

Alice had never seen the film before, but she half-remembered one scene from years of jokes and pop-culture references. Annie Wilkes hobbled Paul Sheldon with a firm swing of the sledgehammer, and the room responded with whimpers and flinches, Veronica protectively nudging her shoulder in front of Archie as he cowered. Cheryl’s shoulders were shaking.

“You doing alright there?” Fred called down.

Cheryl turned to him with a bright smile, giggles bubbling out of her throat. “I am _amazing._ ”

Archie gaped at her. “How are you laughing right now?”

“She’s a sociopath,” Betty said. Cheryl threw skittles at her.

As the credits started to roll, Jughead dryly noted, “I’m starting to think that I shouldn’t become an author.”

Veronica and Cheryl turned their heads at the same moment and said in perfect unison, “But I’m your number one fan!”

Jughead shivered. “I’m burning my manuscript.”

Veronica turned to Cheryl. “Jinx. You owe me a soda,”

Cheryl patted her arm sweetly. “There are food banks for that, Ronniekins.”

Betty declared the film, “Creepy, but super good.”

Polly yawned, stretching. “The book’s better.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “You slept through the whole thing.”

“I saw some of it, and this Annie is way toned down. She cuts off his feet in the book.”

“Shut up,” Cheryl pulled out her I-Phone. “I’m buying it.”

 

* * *

 

Dear Cheryl,

I think I’m pregnant. I haven’t told my boyfriend yet. I don’t know what to do. Please, please help me.

Scared

 

_Dear Scared,_

_Okay, I like support you or whatever, but I am definitely not the person to come to for this because I’ve never had sex, let alone a pregnancy scare. I can’t say for sure that you’ve made some bad decisions to get where you are, but writing in was not a good life decision. You should talk to an adult or something. Try Mrs. Cooper. Her daughter literally had twins a few months ago, so she is in no position to judge. Plus, she’s basically running a homeless shelter for runaway teens._

_Good luck (and not in a sarcastic way),_

_Cheryl_

 

* * *

 

Alice knocked twice on Veronica’s door and swiftly opened it. She raised her eyebrow at the rumpled couple huddled under the blankets, put away the laundry in silence, and tossed a shirt at Veronica’s wide eyes. The lump whom she had labeled Archie remained fully buried.

“We will be having a family meeting in ten minutes.” Alice swept out, snapping the door shut behind her.

Her entire brood had gathered in the living room—from infants to teenagers to supposed adults. Even the dog perched at her feet as Alice glared down at them. “I consider you each of you family, which makes it all the more disturbing that so many of you are having sex under my roof.”

Archie, bright red, hid his face in his hands. Veronica, perfectly put-together save for the fact that she was missing her usual pearls, said, “Sorry you had to walk in on that. There isn’t a lock.”

“I had them removed,” Alice said. “I’m actually quite glad this happened.”

Archie made a strangled noise as he hid behind his girlfriend.

“We don’t need another Polly on our hands,” Alice said.

“Thanks,” Polly muttered with a childish roll of her eyes.

Alice gave her a look. “This house is quite full enough without any more surprises.”

She turned the look to her other daughter. “Particularly from you, Betty.”

Betty swallowed. “What?”

“I know you aren’t a virgin, Elizabeth Cooper. I’ve read your diary.”

“I…didn’t write about that in my diary?”

Alice could see the gears churning in her daughter’s head. “Your real diary. Not the decoy you’ve planted. I’m not a fool.”

Jughead looked almost as horrified as Betty, as he well should considering the explicit detail with which she gushed about their sex life. Alice wondered when Betty would realize that not everything should be written down.

Veronica snorted. “I told you to hide it outside the house.”

Fred stared at Alice. “You read her diary?”

“Don’t you get into it with me, Fred Andrews. The kids aren’t the only ones sneaking around and having ill-advised sexual encounters.”

From his position sprawled out on the armchair, FP winked and said, “Guilty.”

Fred flushed, set his jaw, and stared resolutely out the window. Everyone seemed caught off guard by this, particularly Alice since her insinuations had been a jab at Fred and _Hermione_.

“I knew it,” Hermione muttered.

“Right,” Alice cleared her throat. “The point is that you should all be well informed before risking your health and futures.”

“Thanks again,” Polly chirped.

“You made your bed, Polly.”

Archie winced. “You’re giving us The Talk?”

Cheryl raised her hand. “As the only person in this household who has _not_ engaged in vaguely incestuous, Flowers in the Attic-esque romance, can I leave?”

FP erupted in deep, shaking laughs.

“What?” Cheryl asked.

“Twincest,” he gasped.

Cheryl glared at Veronica. “This is your fault.”

“Abstinence!” Alice stated loudly.

Several groans followed, as well as an “Oh my God,” from Betty.

“Abstinence,” Alice continued, “is the only way to unquestionably prevent pregnancy and STDs. Most people will not be abstinent. _This_ is a condom—”

 “Oh my God,” Betty repeated as her mother held up the wrapper.

“This is a condom—”

“If you need a volunteer…”

Jughead glared at his father. “Dad, seriously?”

Alice ground out, “Sit down. FP.”

“Should we be doing this with, like…” Archie gestured vaguely at the twins, one of whom squinted judgmentally at the redhead.

FP leaned over to tickle the little one’s chin. “They have to learn sometime.”

“Sex and babies are intrinsically linked, no matter what children your age might think,” Alice said.

“Depending on your definition of sex,” Hermione added from where she stood by the television.

“We’ll get to that later in the conversation.” Alice paced in front of the uncomfortable teenagers. “This is a condom. It is fine for STD-protection. It is insufficient to prevent pregnancy.”

Polly sighed. “I know.”

Alice continued, “It can break, fall off, or be destroyed by oil-based lubricants.”

FP gently poked a baby’s belly. “And that’s how Jellybean was born!”

“Jesus Christ, Dad!” Jughead shouted.

Alice moved toward the doors, sensing a flight risk. “Doubling up on birth control methods is the wisest choice to ensure that you don’t end up as a single mother with a dozen children.”

“Speaking from experience, Alice?” FP said with a waggle of the eyebrows.

Veronica giggled. “Are you counting yourself among the kids, FP?”

“I know my place here. I’m also counting Fred and Hermione.” FP poked at the air as he struggled to count to twelve. “Also the dog.”

“Mrs. C.?” Cheryl said. “I hate to interrupt this…whatever this is, but I just got a text from my mother.”

“Really? What a rare and happy occasion.” Alice despised that woman but had not yet convinced Cheryl to block her number.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened,” Cheryl said slowly, nibbling on her lip. “Something about being ruined? She was wondering if she could stay here for a while.”

Alice stared at Cheryl Blossom, with her wounded puppy eyes and trembling hands, and said, “Absolutely not. I have limits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While brainstorming the movie scene, we came up with the favorite genres of all the characters. FairyGodmother has demanded that I share this with the world:
> 
> Alice - Disney Movies  
> Betty - Mysteries, Detective Movies  
> Polly - Teeth, and other things that make everyone squirm.  
> Jughead - Artsy films and old films. German expressionism.  
> FP - RomComs and Mafia movies  
> Archie - Musicals  
> Fred - Nicholas Sparks and his ilk  
> Veronica - Smart comedies  
> Hermione - "Torture porn" horror movies  
> Cheryl - Thrillers and slashers
> 
> P.S. There is a high chance of season 2 spawning new omakes.


End file.
